 | English Roses |  |
ETERNAL NOTHING.
For years I sought a fleshly God,
And gave Him every gift but trust;
I wallowed for Him in the dust,
And abject in His temple trod.
I deemed such services were fit
And pleasant to the Awful Shade,
Which mine own hands had feebly made—
They thought to cramp the Infinite.
I bathed this Phantom with my tears,
And gloried in the earthly dress
Of His exceeding littleness,
A reflex of my coward fears.
And gave Him every gift but trust;
I wallowed for Him in the dust,
And abject in His temple trod.
I deemed such services were fit
And pleasant to the Awful Shade,
Which mine own hands had feebly made—
They thought to cramp the Infinite.
I bathed this Phantom with my tears,
And gloried in the earthly dress
Of His exceeding littleness,
A reflex of my coward fears.
I wondered often why I knew
No comfort, out of land and sky,
From this poor creature Deity
Which only of my meanness drew.
He seemed so helpless and as blind
As human nature on its lees,
And hungering less for faith than fees,
Unkin though kin and most unkind.
He never lifted me by love
Into the realms past mortal air,
Where all is very calm and fair,
And set me at His side above
No comfort, out of land and sky,
From this poor creature Deity
Which only of my meanness drew.
He seemed so helpless and as blind
As human nature on its lees,
And hungering less for faith than fees,
Unkin though kin and most unkind.
He never lifted me by love
Into the realms past mortal air,
Where all is very calm and fair,
And set me at His side above
Then I renounced my God of clay
And sought another in the Land
Which wears no common bound or brand,
Betwixt the worlds of night and day.
And of the Silence did I ask
What laid its redness on the rose,
Or breathed the rapture in repose
And hallowed every time and task.
But, lo, the stillness made reply,
From dim retreats of nature nude
And its eternal solitude—
“Behold, in me, Divinity.”
And sought another in the Land
458
Betwixt the worlds of night and day.
And of the Silence did I ask
What laid its redness on the rose,
Or breathed the rapture in repose
And hallowed every time and task.
But, lo, the stillness made reply,
From dim retreats of nature nude
And its eternal solitude—
“Behold, in me, Divinity.”
And thus I learnt from truthful lips
The secret which alone could save,
And wider was than creed or grave,
The last great dread apocalypse.
I found a solace in the thought,—
That labour was, to love in vain
And passion but an idle pain,
When at its bases All was Nought.
And so I crave for nothing more,
Beyond the present and its power;
I take each moment at the flower,
And fret not for some fancied Shore.
The secret which alone could save,
And wider was than creed or grave,
The last great dread apocalypse.
I found a solace in the thought,—
That labour was, to love in vain
And passion but an idle pain,
When at its bases All was Nought.
And so I crave for nothing more,
Beyond the present and its power;
I take each moment at the flower,
And fret not for some fancied Shore.
Ah, it is utter peace to know
Betwixt the trouble and the tear
No kingdoms lie or far or near,
And the above is the below.
Thus, as a baby at the breast
Which sucks its daily sustenance
Nor heeds the hidden circumstance,
Faith drinks from fountains mute and blest.
What future morns may grudge or give
To purpose that would do or dare,
I now no longer ask or care—
It is enough for me to live.
Betwixt the trouble and the tear
No kingdoms lie or far or near,
And the above is the below.
Thus, as a baby at the breast
Which sucks its daily sustenance
Nor heeds the hidden circumstance,
Faith drinks from fountains mute and blest.
What future morns may grudge or give
To purpose that would do or dare,
I now no longer ask or care—
It is enough for me to live.
| English Roses | |